


What Has Changed

by just_a_dram



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dragons, F/M, Reunions, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_dram/pseuds/just_a_dram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jorah has a revelation when he sees Drogon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Has Changed

**Title** : What Has Changed  
**Author** : [](http://just-a-dram.livejournal.com/profile)[**just_a_dram**](http://just-a-dram.livejournal.com/)  
**Fandom** : ASOIAF  
**Pairing** : Jorah/Dany, one-sided  
**Rating** : T  
**Summary** : Jorah has a revelation when he sees Drogon.  Post-ADWD.  
**Author's Note** : This won 3rd place in [](http://thetourneys.livejournal.com/profile)[**thetourneys**](http://thetourneys.livejournal.com/).  Nothing to cheer about, as there were only 3 entries.  :)

 

  
**What Has Changed**

 

Jorah Mormont almost feels as if nothing has changed, when he is received into the Queen’s good graces once more. She is just as beautiful, still barely more than a girl, and still scornful of him, despite her gift of forgiveness. It would seem that Daenerys forgives but does not forget, which makes her wise, but he cannot help but regret that wisdom.

He thinks she might not have even forgiven him at all if she had not seen the slaver’s brand upon his face. That touched the tenderness in her spirit, he thinks, as he rubs roughly at the marked skin.

No, coming here it is as if he has been transported back to a time when they rode alongside each other, surrounded by a hoard you could smell coming well in advance of the pound of hooves in the Dothraki Sea. The only thing that has changed is the khal: she has a new khalasar following at her heels, one led by Khal Jhaqo.

Jhaqo found her near death, he has been told. Daenerys Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons, was found in the grasslands, parched and close to death. Bleeding. Miscarrying, he has heard it whispered amongst the Dothraki women, as they carry water back to camp. Her womb a space where nothing can grow, they dare not repeat. Miscarrying another man’s babe. Jorah does his best not to curl his fist so tight that his nails pierce his battle hardened palm. He is not supposed to think on his queen in such a manner any longer, but what he has vowed aloud and what he nourishes in his heart are two very different things.

Nothing of import has changed: she is still not his, even though he has pledged himself anew and vowed to fight for her in the coming battle. That is no surprise. What little importance does his promise hold, when she has dragons to fight for her? He has only seen one thus far, circling overhead, huge black wings blotting out the sun, but here she is, standing before him, her skin darkened by the sun, her hair as white as the snow on Bear Island, holding out a hand, offering him more than just a glimpse.

“Would you care to see Drogon, ser?”

“I have seen much of him, Your Grace,” he says with a nod to the sky.

She smiles, thrusting her hand out further.

“Are you afraid?”

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“Yes,” she says, as her eyes narrow, “you’re no fool, ser.”

He stands, his body creaking at the effort, and his fingers brush hers for a half beat until her hand withdraws and she begins to walk with purpose away from the khalasar.

“He feeds,” she tells him without glancing back over her shoulder to see that he follows.

“On traitors flesh?”

If she catches his meaning, she gives no sign of it.

“A goat. Two goats, I think. He won’t be content for long,” she instructs, as she picks up her pace, her dusty feet beating a steady rhythm against the ground.

What she does not say is what hangs heavy in the air around them: Daenerys does not control Drogon. Not truly. She has ridden him, flown through the air on his back like the Targaryens of old, but he is aggressive and even her presence at Jorah’s side is no guarantee of protection should the beast—hatched in his presence—decide Jorah Mormont dies today. It is only the distraction of flesh that will provide him the time to observe her reptilian child, which she seems eager to display in all his glory.

Perhaps as a warning, Jorah thinks, as his feet refuse to carry him any farther.

Daenerys is speaking to him, her head tilted as her mouth forms words that his ears fail to hear.

As massive as Drogon appeared in the sky, he seems twice as large now, and growing larger, the Imp has assured him. It crouches on the ground, a great serpentine tail wrapped around its body, its wings pulled into its side like a bat folded up on the ceiling of a cave. White smoke trails from its nostrils, as it pulls at the flesh of what Jorah would never guess was once a goat: the wasted body on the ground before Drogon could be anything, it could be a human for all he knows. Tossing back a chunk of the flesh, neck muscles working in rolling succession beneath its heavy, black scaled hide, its eyes lock on him, glittering like faceted jewels in his dark face. His eyes devour him as sure as his pointed teeth crunch bone, and Jorah can see and hear nothing else.

He has been wrong: everything has changed. This is the creature that will bring them all home.

FIN


End file.
